Cameron hoped so. He could map out his own future without Alice or Ned, because healing was more of a predictable career than quidditch. Students interned at the hospital after graduation, and a year later they were healers. They could switch wards, but it wasn't a career-halting move. Quidditch, on the other hand, was more exciting but twice as dangerous and half as lucrative. As much as he loved quidditch, and wanted to be a quidditch player, the decision to forsake his NEWT scores could backfire with a career-ending injury at age twenty. Then what would he have? His stomach bubbled at the thought—much like their potion.

Cameron peered into the potion, watching the bubbles. Nope, it was definitely too early; he still had the lacewing flies ready to go. He turned to Sloane to say as much, but the potion decided it was going to get a word in before him. It let out a deep rumble, almost like a growling animal, and then began spilling over the edge of the cauldron in a goopy purple mess.

Then, it jumped out at them. Because of course it would.

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